


takes only a taste

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Falls (Gravity Falls), Deer Dipper Pines, Deer Mabel Pines, Foreshadowing, Gen, Implied Cannibalism, Light Horror, Mystery, Outtakes, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: After dinner, Mom and Dad tell them about the new rule: nobody leaves the cabin and especially not alone. Too many other deer have gone missing. It isn't safe outside anymore.When she goes to check on Dipper, Mabel finds him missing.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	takes only a taste

**Author's Note:**

> This is an outtake of something that could potentially be larger. The whole AU was supposed to be a joke (lol, as if), and this outtake idea was supposed to be a joke on that joke. 
> 
> And now we're here, with the outtake existing before the main fic. It doesn't even go into what the main fic's big plot is about. Just a vague, limited Mabel POV about it. You're welcome. 
> 
> I listened to [Lurk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfd7uYsKlBo&feature=youtu.be) for most of this.

After dinner, Mom and Dad tell them about the new rule: nobody leaves the cabin and especially not alone.

Too many other deer have gone missing. Well, missing was a nicer word for what was actually happening. Sometimes it fit, because they never found the bodies. When they did, however…

Well, it became quite clear this was the work of a hunter. The bullet wounds made that obvious enough. A hunter – and in their neck of the woods, too. It was a scary thought. Still, no one in their dwindling community had seen said hunter. It was a wraith that haunted them without letting itself be spotted. A ghost that hid in the shadows to terrify them. If the evidence wasn’t clearly there, tainting their forest with blood and gore, they’d have passed it off as a warning folktale – because that was exactly what it sounded like.

It was also becoming more and more evident that, despite taking some of their parts – assumingly for meat? It was always the soft organs, even if not the complete set – this wasn’t done as a way to source food. They were dying too often, too quickly for that. This was done for sport.

They were dying simply because the hunter willed it. The hunter killed them because he wanted to. Nothing less. Everything else done after was a bonus.

This hunter didn’t even skin them. As thankful as they all were for this fact, it _was_ surprising. Deer skins, as all hybrid types, were rare and expensive in human circles. This hunter could make a pretty penny off of their deaths, but he was choosing not to.

It didn’t make sense. But it was already hard to understand why someone would enjoy senseless _murder_.

Well, it was hard as a deer. But for a human, a _hunter_? That did make sense. That was their normal, their lifestyle. They lived to kill others. They just usually didn’t do it so… transparently.

Or with an increasing sense of urgency, as was the case in these killings.

So, Mom and Dad’s rule makes sense. They are in danger. Every second outside, even getting food, is an opportunity for their pursuer. No one is safe, not outside, and certainly not alone. That seems to be how the hunter is picking them off. Their bodies only show up in singles. Now is not the time to be off goofing around in the woods. Not in this state of emergency.

Still, Dipper does not take the news well. It shows all over his face. The devastation shows in his gaping mouth, the betrayal in his eyes, the anxiety in his twitching ears. His fists clench in frustration, but he knows better than to argue. When they’re like this, their parents’ word is final. Nothing will change their mind.

It’s no surprise where either of them gets their stubborn traits from. That does make for an interesting home to be in sometimes, when they all have disagreeing opinions and are unwilling to relent over them.

However, even Dipper knows that tonight, trying to argue against it will not fly. Not the face of these casualties. There is no way for him to dispute any of it. There cannot be any good reason for him to keep disappearing into the woods, as he loves to do.

It concerns their parents – this love of wandering around alone. The thing is… these woods are their home and it is natural to want to be out. They seek the sun, the wind, the leaves and foliage. The soft crunch of grass beneath their hooves is comforting. A shedding buck has actual _needs_ to rub against a tree trunk to get rid of his velvet in a way that nothing else compares. And sometimes they just need to be in the shrubbery, munching on the daises, ignoring their human side that demands they think about something _every single second_.

Maybe this makes them regressive, a step further back from humans. More animalistic. But they needed it.

This knowledge is what makes Dipper’s initial discontentment understandable, his love of the outdoors _valid_ – and yet.

It’s also a bit much. Because Dipper always seems to take it a bit too far.

Sometimes it seems like he never grew up, caught up to the rest of them. Yes, his antlers came in. But that seemed to be it.

He isn’t interested in winter seasons; in fact, he was known for going deeper into the woods to avoid the females of their group.

Another thing is that he still has his fawn spots. A little thing, one that shouldn’t have mattered, but with the rest… they add to it. Normally, they, alongside the lack of antlers, are a sign of immaturity, that he is still an adolescent. His stayed. So long that if – when – they finally left, it would be weird to see him without them. Now, they are similar to the freckles that sprinkle his arms and shoulders. They are part of him, discoloring to break up the monotony. Unique.

But still. Visibly childish, as unfair as it is.

On top of it all, Dipper spends most of his free time in the woods. Occasionally, he comes back with new things – primarily flowers, plants, and rocks that he thinks they would like, or ones that sparked his interest. They tend to be from somewhere far out, way farther away than most of them dared to venture. Yet, he appears to be out in those places regularly, exploring the entirety of them before moving on – somewhere even farther away.

He is becoming more and more solitary. And despite what she tries, there is nothing Mabel could do about it.

And she misses him. She misses him so much.

She watches him spin on his heel and disappear into his room without a word to their parents. Having already eaten and it being Mabel’s turn for dish duty, their parents let him. Mom sighs, and the melancholy in her eyes that trail after him, mirrors the emptiness that Mabel feels in her chest.

She looks down at the dish she’s mindlessly scrubbing at. It has to be clean with how long she has been working at it. She wishes their relationship could be like that, like it used to be. Just bit of nudging and then _bam_ – all shiny and clean.

Reliable and relied upon.

She sighs, too. The running tap she uses to rinse the suds off the dish cover her sound.

It wouldn’t change anything if she was heard, anyway.

* * *

She’s still thinking about it, about him, about them, later. It keeps her up and she can’t get to sleep. She dozes a little, after forcing her eyes shut for long enough, but each are barely half the time of her usual naps. She finds herself lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. She wonders if he is too.

Probably. Even now, when the forest and this new hunter are keeping them apart, they are still twins. They are still in sync. There have been many a night where she would wander out to see him in the kitchen, awake as well. They lived, breathed, and slept to the same schedule. Just… now, it was in different places.

Again, the hollow spot in her chest where he belongs, aches. She misses him, them, their adventures. Maybe when this blows over, when the hunter is stopped or gets bored and moves on – maybe then, she can ask to go with him.

It’s on her, too, to fix this. And if Dipper won’t do anything about it, then she will step up in his absence.

Mind made up, Mabel stands and smiles to herself. Yeah! Maybe this fix will take a little more than the usual nudging, but it isn’t irreparable. They’ll talk (and maybe use a little elbow grease in the form of an alpha twin noogie, if necessary) and things will go back to normal.

Well, _they’ll_ go back to normal, as they wait for their home outside to do the same, that is.

Approaching his door, Mabel knocks – to the tune that Dipper likes, Shave and a Haircut. He remembers the name of it (and as such, now Mabel knows it too) because he’s a dork. As she waits for the usual shuffling around and then his weary, long, drawn out sigh before he opens the door, she bounces on the balls of her feet.

She has missed him a whole lot.

Except… the sounds never come. No movement, no sigh, no exasperated, “What do you want, Mabel?” Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

“Dipper?” She asks, knocking again. This time without the tune. Three plain knocks. Still no answer.

Maybe he’s… asleep? A really, really deep sleep that doesn’t let her knocking pull him from it?

Something curls, dark and heavy and slimy in the bottom of her stomach. That doesn’t sound right; that doesn’t sound like _Dipper_. No, there’s something wrong about this. _Really_ wrong.

Trusting her gut (as she always does), she palms the handle to his door and twists it. The metal is cold, as it tends to be when it’s cooler in the house like this. It, combined with her growing anxiety, makes her shiver. She pushes open the door.

Dipper’s room is empty.

The lights are off, but that’s something she can automatically tell. His bedsheets are piled up as if there’s a body there, but she knows how he curls up tight into a ball when he sleeps. Not stretched out like a normal person, like the posed bedding suggests. Plus, he never sleeps with his head beneath the covers. No matter how scared or angry or upset he gets, he and his curls could always be found splayed out across the pillow, usually barely avoiding being soaked with his drool.

Her ears start flicking so rapidly they keep hitting her scalp.

She licks her lips and looks around. For what, she doesn’t know. Clues?

“Dippy?” She asks, even as he knows he isn’t here, that he can’t hear her. It’s empty and cold and that pit in her chest is only growing larger and larger. The only thing that rivals it is the squirming thing that lives and writhes in her stomach, threatening to break out and escape through her torso like some kind of alien monster. Dipper would find that so cool – after he screamed some first, probably.

His bed, fake as the piled sheets are, looks normal, as does his bookshelf. She’s been in here often enough to guess which books are missing, or out of place. She knows what it looks like when he is and isn’t absorbed in a new project, desperately researching whatever it is that has his attention this time. There isn’t a spine out of place. In fact, it even looks dusty.

Just how long has whatever he’s been seeking out in the woods kept his attention? It’s much longer than anything previous. Mom and Dad’s worry is becoming more and more sensible.

Would this have still happened if she spoke up sooner? Would he have taken her with him instead? Instead of isolating himself in the trees, with nothing but the birds and the squirrels to keep him company?

Dipper doesn’t even like squirrels. He claims they target him, seek him out and have even bitten him once. He never found it funny when Mabel retorted that they could smell his insecurities.

She looks at his desk next. It’s empty, everything put in its rightful places. It, too, looks like he hasn’t touched it in a while.

Wait.

On the floor is a small white… something, that protrudes from the bottom of the desk. Ducking down to get a closer look at it, she realizes it’s a piece of paper. Some paper that was tucked almost hidden under the desk. Almost.

Even though the desk is easy enough to lift up, Mabel doesn’t think that the paper was accidentally dropped underneath it. Possible, yes. Likely, not so much.

It looks like it was deliberately stuffed there, away from prying eyes. Only for Dipper to see.

Yes, this is definitely a clue, if she’s ever seen one.

Careful not to tear it or knock anything off the desk as she lifts the corner of it, she retrieves the folded-up paper. Smoothing it out over the desk, she unfolds it and peers down at it.

It looks to be a map. A map of trees and, well – their trees. Their forest. She recognizes a portion of it. The main areas of their forest, the landmarks and other homes. Particular feeding or mating grounds their family uses. Then, it went farther. Places she never went or bothered to. Areas that Dipper must have explored.

All over these places are little, red dots.

They’re not labeled or anything. Just small, colored in red circles. Some are in clusters, while others are scattered about, lonely. To Mabel’s eyes, there doesn’t appear to be a pattern. Maybe that was what Dipper was trying to puzzle out?

Maybe… this is what holds his attention? Could it be, that whatever this was, it is the key to his recent absences?

She wonders just what these red dots could mean. Something reoccurring, maybe? Events or something he found…

She pours over the map, looking for anything familiar or useful.

In the grove closest to the river, three dots, shaping a triangle. Mabel remembers that area. She’s been avoiding it, ever since…

Since they found those bodies.

Those _three_ bodies.

Her heart starts to pick up in her chest. No, it couldn’t be…

She turns her attention to the area that saw the most carnage – the herd’s largest known clover field. It is a spot for delicious snacking, which meant that a lot of deer like to camp there, grazing. It’s not surprising that many were found alone there. Even after the killings started up – and then drastically started to rise.

Seven bodies were found here.

And on Dipper’s map, there are seven little dots.

Mabel’s stomach drops through her legs. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth and she can’t stop her gasp. Her legs shake.

Is that what he’s doing? Right now? Trying to track these? Hunt the hunter? All by himself?

Alone? Without her?

That’s so dangerous! “So, so…” she swallows, hard. Her fingers curl into the paper. A corner folds under her pressure. “ _Stupid!_ ”

How could he be so stupid? So careless? So _selfish_?

What if something happened to him? What did he think would happen to Mom and Dad? To _her_? Did he think she could just live through her brother and twin dying?

And all for what? An adventure? A mystery to solve?

And he didn’t even think to ask for help?

Did he not trust her? Was it because she never said anything? That her noticing his distancing wasn’t enough?

A sound at the window brings her out of her spiraling.

At the _open_ window.

She jerks, barely holding back a scream, and spins toward the source. She doesn’t know exactly what she expects to see. Maybe a human, the hunter. Maybe another deer, running through and needing some solace. Maybe a squirrel, coming to attack Dipper in his sleep.

What she certainly wasn’t expecting was to see two hands on the windowsill, both smeared in red. In one, clutching an open switchblade, also covered in something red.

Blood. So obviously blood.

It’s innate, instinctual, pure nature that makes her freeze in place. Even as the hands move. As they heave the body of someone up. Someone coming in under the cover of night, covered in blood. She is unable to move, only watching, as someone hauls their shadowed form up and into the room with a grunt. The person stands to their full height, breathing heavily, and –

“Dipper?”

Her small, quiet question breaks the silence she’d been holding. She still cannot move. She cannot look away. She is bound in place, staring after her brother. Her brother, who looks like a runaway in his own room, holding a bloodied weapon, having just left scarlet fingerprints all over his windowsill.

At her voice, his head snaps up, and that’s when she sees that the blood isn’t just on his hands.

It’s streaking all over his face, too. And not like it was splattered, like a terrible, terrible backsplash. No, nothing of the sort.

Even in this darkness, that does not shroud what it should, she can see it for what it is.

It _originates_ at his mouth, and radiates from there. Between his parted, panting lips, she can see that it stains his teeth a horrible wine color. All over, splotches of red, no mere accidents. Too much to not be purposeful. Enough to mean he was _consuming_ it. Even as he hurriedly, distractedly, swipes some of it away with his tongue – a nervous, thoughtless action – it does not disappear completely. Not at all.

It remains there, evidence of what he’s done, incapable of being hidden. Not from her, who has caught him – literally red-handed. Not from his sister, no matter how much distance he has tried to put between them.

“Dipper,” she repeats, and she should be scared, but he holds a knife and he doesn’t even point it at her. He just stands there, staring with his big, brown eyes, breathing heavily. He cannot catch his breath. “What did you _do_?”

She thinks this will take more than a little bit of elbow grease to fix.


End file.
